Shizuku
by icedcooly
Summary: More Aoshi/Misao angst. Incomplete. Would someone like to take this up? ^_^


Shizuku by Charlene 

Prologue: Tomorrow 

Standard disclaimers apply 

The petite seventeen year old sat by the window for a long time. It was night and the sound of crickets resonated repeatedly throughout the small room. She was completely still except for the occasional blink of the eye, or the slight, almost imperceptible movement of her jet black head. 

She seemed not to be looking, and yet her eyes reflected a fiercely focused concentration not unlike that of an artist as he stops in the middle of painting to appraise his own work, his sharp gaze roving over each detail, each stroke as if trying to correct them with his gaze alone. The crickets stopped. 

It seemed like she was hanging precariously between that small and very precious space between our realities and our fantasies. A small yet infinite chasm where the two merged, the line that discerned them blurred, where a girl could dream and make believe she would finish her dream and after that set out to make it reality. 

So absorbed was she in her thoughts, that she failed to hear the soft sound of wood against wood as her door slid open. "Have you made your decision yet?" A soft feminine voice jolted her. Misao turned, her eyes startled, then glazed over as she recognized the owner of the voice. She felt something stick in her throat—her words, maybe? But she swallowed it hurriedly. Her face seemed to crumble as her voice cracked. 

"One more day…please?" 

The woman nodded resignedly, her hard façade shattering under the girl's unvoiced plea for understanding, her uncharacteristically soft tone. "Misao…" she sighed. "I don't want to keep reminding you, but you do know they will not wait forever…" 

Misao nodded gently, her braid swinging disconsolately. "I know that, Omasu. I know it so much it hurts." She paused, evidently trying to gather her composure, for she was unused to such open displays of emotion. "Tomorrow," she vowed aloud. "Tomorrow I will confront him, and tomorrow I will make the decision." 

Omasu nodded her consent, and then added a thin smile for good measure. She didn't know if she could trust the adolescent, but she knew for certain that she should. "Very well then, tomorrow." 

The word echoed forlornly on the empty walls of the night, now that the crickets had ceased their monotonous chirp. The door slid close, as the woman left and Misao turned back to the window to resume her thought. 

He was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing. She did not want to disturb him, but with the silent finality of a snowflake touching the white-coated ground, melting and dissolving so that it became one with the countless others, she stepped into his room, not bothering to disguise her entrance. 

He, in turn, did not disguise his own reaction to this unwelcome intrusion. "I've told you to leave me alone," he pointed out, in a voice so soft and gentle and without reproach, one would have thought he was being kind if not for his words. 

She drew her breath sharply, cursing herself for allowing this pain to stab at her time and time again. Her will shrank back, she could almost feel part of it shrinking back into her own being. But her spirit refused to falter. 

She was strong, she knew it deep inside, could feel it coursing through her veins even as she grew up. She could count on herself, depend on herself, and she knew she would still be standing there after the raging storm, ragged and torn, but still as whole as one could possibly be. Yet why did her strength fail her when she needed it most? Inwardly, she quailed like a delicate leaf on a branch. 

She bit the words forth, trying desperately to throw some weight into each syllable, trying desperately to let him see how much this meant to her. "I'm leaving tomorrow. You know that." He was silent. He was silent and his eyes were closed to her. The quietude seemed to wreath around him, forming an impregnable barrier within which there was only him and the eternity he fabricated for himself each day. 

"But then—I might not," she choked out, fear and uncertainty tainting her faltering whisper. And anger. Anger at having to step aside when he wanted to walk, anger at having to bend when he wanted to rush past in a great torrential flow. 

"And why wouldn't you?" 

It was black suddenly, not soft and velvety like a quiet soothing night in which lilting lullabies were drawn in with each sweet breath. It was harsh, dark, dark black. And yet she could not help herself, sweeping out with eager fingers which knew no surrender, ready to collect the stars, trying just one last time before all was lost to her. 

"I only want…" Your smile. Your touch. Your love. "…your consent." 

His dark eyes flickered open then, and she cast her gaze to the ground, not daring to confront what she was sure would be his annoyance and harsh unbridled wrath. She didn't know how long she stood there, these prickly sensations running up and down her back, burning her even as she fought to contain her raw fear. 

"It had been given a long time ago." 

"Goodbye! Goodbye!" She heard the distant cries. Oh yes, how she heard them. Muted by distance, almost entirely drowned out by the thundering of the horse carriage wheels, revolving in a billow of noise and dust. 

And now they seemed to almost be from another mind, with another's memories. Someone was calling to her from an entirely different universe, through this thick layer of fog so laden with confusion and unfamiliarity. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was a new being in a new life. Somehow. 

She looked down at the package the white thin hand was holding, her head bowed with a complete submission, a jaded meekness. She felt the soft pulse of warmth beneath her lids, the promise of the chance to wash her grief away painlessly. 

She blinked them back and lifted her head, staring straight ahead stiffly. 

Notes: If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea where Misao's headed for either. ^^; I just felt this strange undeniable urge to write angst and once again, here we have another uncompleted fic, probably to be shelved and made to collect dust for the rest of its miserable little life. *sigh* I can be so weak sometimes… 

  



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